Above the Axe
by M. Soames
Summary: The story continues in Chapter 2, despite some protests. The disregard for capitalization and certain rules of grammar is intentional. Would asking for constructive criticism be too much to ask for? The conclusion will be posted as soon as I write it.
1. Chapter 1

ABOVE THE AXE

A NEW FANFIC  
BY  
MATTHEW SOAMES

I trust youll find it?  
Yes.  
If you return without it, your career in my house is over.  
I know.  
A bar in Vivec. At the appointed time. Find out all you can.  
I will.  
If you die, make sure no-one recognizes you.  
That will not be an issue.

The trek would not be an easy one. Since the abolition of slavery, Morrowind had become an especially turbulent battle-ground for warring factions. Reports of rising body tolls was not the best news they could have heard. But to their advantage, Vivec was still under the protection of elitist ordinators. Whether the poet-warrior himself was still alive or not made no difference to anybody.

The sail from the Imperial City to Gnaar Mok was long. He took a small boat, built for fishing; its wooden floor boards emitted an unpleasant odor. Four dunmer accompanied him in plainclothes, returning home from a contract somewhere in the West. One would guide him to Balmora, but no further. He had studied the maps long enough to know his way from there.

When they landed at Gnaar Mok, he was hungry. However, he could not enter any hovel in the town, as his station forbade it. The one dunmer, in an expensive red shirt, green pants and dark blue shirt, wearing an extravagant amulet of some order, found them a smaller boat, with which he would row them to mainland Vvardenfell, make a stop at Caldera, and further guide him to the small metropolis of Balmora. The little gondola-like vessel almost floated across the waters as the dunmer rowed.

Why did you come to Morrowind, Imperial?  
Not my business. My masters.  
Who is your master?  
He is a collector.  
And what does he collect?  
Old statues. Relics from civilizations long dead.  
The pay is good?  
My master is most generous.  
What do you plan to do when you get to Balmora?  
Find lodgings. Find a man. Or a name. And a drink.  
And from there, you go to Vivec on your own?  
Yes.  
Silt strider?  
Maybe.  
You have a problem with the Camonna Tong?  
No.  
Thats good. Thats good. You might make it back alive.

They landed the boat on the shore, and went in. A short walk inland, they found a small rats nest, and the dunmer had to dispense of the vermin. A suspicious orc stood shadily, nearby, but paid them no heed. As the two walked on, a naked barbarian leered at them.

Youve never seen one before?  
Once, in a plaza in Mournehold, a long time ago.  
Theyre not what youd call uncommon on Vvardenfell, Imperial.

The town of Caldera was a refreshing sight after the indigenous fishing village earlier. The Imperial architecture reminded him of quaint little homes in northern Cyrodiil. Here, he had no trouble finding the governors hall. Though his guide at first protested, they proceeded to the great structure.

Inside, they were received by the deputy governor. He introduced himself as the right hand of Umbaccano, a noble of the Empire. Having had a long journey, he was given new clothing, tailored of exquisite silk with gold lace, and belts and shoes of finest racer-suede, and a flame-mirror robe that would keep him warm and safe. His guide was also well-fitted, in garb that would make his greatest kin seethe with jealousy. These they were given, as hospitality from Caldera. The night upon them, they supped with the governor, and afterward retired to their appropriate quarters.

Upon the next morn, they rose and gave thanks to their respective gods. Matters divine having been settled, they were bade farewell by town officials, and he was guided by the dunmer again on an uneventful path to Balmora. While this road was less dangerous and mad than their last, he could not help but feel bored. The guide tried to fill the void with conversation.

Morrowind is in shambles. Since the Nerevarine, or whoever he was, disappeared, there has been nothing but trouble. Our gods are dead for the most part. Even then, Vivec never makes public appearances anymore. We might have been saved from blight, or corpus, or whatever, but this place isnt the same. Crime has spiked in the eastern part of the countryside, Raven Rock completely dissolved in the north, ill-reputed institutions are spreading out from Suran, my native land is not what it once was.  
Tamriel is changing. It is to be expected. Nothing lasts forever.  
Not even gods anymore, eh?  
Yours arent.

Silence enveloped them. Even the cheerful chirping of crickets had dissipated. They had been walking for a few hours, and were almost there.

You got a wife?  
No, I never had the time to settle down.  
I got a wife. If youre ever in Aldruhn, visit us. My name is Llethri.  
What were you doing in Cyrodiil?  
Getting away from this place. It depresses me anymore.

They came upon the body of a man. On his person they found a skooma pipe and some gold. Two alits were nearby. Making such great time, the guide decided against confronting the beasts, but pocketed the pipe. One final, short stroll brought them to Balmora, the river-city. They wished each other well, and went their separate ways.

He paid a woman fifteen hundred drake to stay in a vacated manor once owned by the illustrious Nerano family, for one weeks length. Making himself at home, he found the small but handsome library and digested two volumes of a queens biography while sipping from a flask of cyrodilic brandy. After a small nap, he went out at night, crossed a bridge to the less favorable side of town, and knocked on a door.

He was admitted by a disheveled professional, a shirtless, balding man who used to have more influence than now. He saw a somewhat rare book on unit tactics laying underneath the mans cot, seemingly unread. The two parlayed, the has-been occasionally indulging in a snort of moon sugar.

I know him. Met him several times.  
What is his name, who am I looking for?  
Hes a nord. A drunk, in the Lizards Head tavern.  
In Vivec?  
The Telvanni compound.  
He is the one?  
Yes, speak to him, and you will have what you need.

He went back to the manor, and slept in. For the rest of his stay in Balmora, he read from the deceased Neranos library, and practiced his swordsmanship. Making sure his belongings were in order, he used a silt strider service to travel from Balmora to Seyda Neen, a small port town, and from there he used the strider again to reach the outskirt of Vivec.

From the Foreign Quarter, it was yet another long walk to his destination. Ordinators in a bronze-gold armor made their rounds through the city, giving him an occasional glance. When he reached Telvanni canton, he had to ask for directions to the Lizards Head. But, once obtained, it was a walk through the waistworks, and he had found his man.

Nord.  
Who are you?  
I am from the Imperial City. You have something for me.  
Iffen you have some mazte on yeh.  
Here. Drink up.  
Thanks. I tek it youve read up on this already?  
No.  
Ah-right. Firstff, thangs ferda mazte. Now, lemme recount for yeh how all this came teh be. Back whan these dark elves ware squattin by cempfurs in nix skins, in the first age, whan my peppel still ruled nerthern Tamriel, thar was a longlost Nord hero called Olmgerd the Outlaw, a bastard son of Harold Handfree. A bastard he might uh been, but he was given a noblemens burial, in his own shep, in a tomb deep in mother rock. They buried with him his unchanted bettle ax, Stermkiss, fer pertection to the next life. Well you see this key? See what it says? Stermkiss.  
You think this is the key to the tomb?  
Ah know it is. Ah jus know it.  
And where exactly is the tomb?  
Ah, ah, Ill tell yeh ware. They say they buried Olmgerd in the bettom of an ancient dunmer tomb. From the skalds telling, the burial was on a long fenger of land on the soothwest coost of Vvardenfell, on a little island close to shore on the wist coast of the peninsula. Figger its somewhere on thah stetch, between the Daedric ruins at Zaintiraris and Tel Branora.  
This information will be most helpful. I thank you for your help. Now, for the key.  
Yeh know, Imperial, I was gonna offer it teh none other than the Nerevarine hisself back in the day. I asked im for some mazte, I did, and you know what? He skeffed me off, and went aboot his murry way.  
That is his loss. Now, for my gain.  
Yer an eager one. Here.  
I wish you good health, Nord.  
Beh, healer says the mazte is killin me. Im goin home to Skyrim nex week. I hope I finally die. I served my purpose. Gods be with yeh. And thanks fer da mazte.

Key pocketed, he went out of the tavern, and sought shelter in the Hlaalu canton, at the manor of Crassus Curio. Curio welcomed him more enthusiastically than the Governor of Caldera, embracing him, and singing him a sweet melody of his own composition. They partook of fine grapes and cheeses on limeware, also drinking vintage Tamika wine. For night, Curio gave him a silver robe made of silk. He could have sworn, after the candles were snuffed and all were tucked, that hed heard a heavy breathing at his door before he succumbed to the pressure of his dreaming world, and for a while cast aside his waking one.

The morn its peak having breached with golden rays descending, ascending to the untrained eye, he rose and dressed. He relaxed with Curio a while, reading through the councilmans new play, helping act part of it out for fun. When they tired, he asked him if he knew any good, strong adventurers. Curio thought on it for some time, then recollected the name of a Redguard, a certain acrobat. They sent for her, and received her quietly in four days. He was told her name was Helviane, and that she was a master of the skills required for the quest. She was told every necessary detail, those covered by the Nord, and those also covered by his master; she was given food for her expedition, and a map of the region in which the desired treasure lay.

She left shortly thereafter, to find an artifact deep under the earth.


	2. Chapter 2

Within an hour of the redguards departure, Curio bade his guest accompany him to the Hlaalu Treasury, in the cantons waistworks, that they may spar with swords both fine and exotic. Just after midday, ordinators bowed their heads to him and Curio as they passed, the councilmans highstanding in the community more than evident.

Reaching the Treasury, Curio presented his key to the proper ordinator, and was admitted to his safe, a large room full of chests large and small. Curio unpocketed a second key, and unlocked one of the larger chests in the room, on the floor: from it, he withdrew two glass swords, their blades a shocking green, slightly transparent. Curio slung one over his own shoulder, and he the other. They left the Treasury for Hlaalus Plaza, in which one of Curios servants announced the sparring match:

In the spirit of our Houses Ancient Tradition, Councilman Curio, valiant and brave protector of the Hlaalu, shall engage in a spar with his imperial cousin, the noble hand of Umbacano, Jollring. They will armor, arm, and spar for the gods: though unworthy, you may spectate as the preparations are made and the spar conducted. Woe, oh woe unto him that does not stay to see this event!

Many gathered in the form of an oval around him and Curio. Curios servants helped both of them into steel armor, the Seal of the Empire strangely absent from the councilmans suits. Once armored, they grasped and felt the claymores, swinging for practice, gauging thrusts by shifts in weight and energy exertion.

Settled in their armory practice, the two had at each other pleasantly, the glass claymores music making upon each touch. Light of feet with legs nimble and eyes quick, the two made spectacle in Hlaalu Cantons Plaza. By their events end, he and Curio were tired, and the crowd cheered in rare form. It reminded him of an arena match without the bloodshed and the greed.

Retiring to Curios manor again, the two disarmed, disarmored and donned robes. Curio was in the middle of telling him the latest gossip when a dunmer was admitted to the room. Curio introduced the two: Orvas, this is Jollring, a new friend of mine. Jollring, this man here is Orvas Dren. You could say he keeps Hlaalus hinges greased.

Dren insisted he speak to Curio alone, his eyes shifting. Curio obliged, and he and Dren entered a bedroom and Dren closed the door. Light reflected off of a limeware platter.

He went out of the manor, a lichen mask on his face. The plaza was desolate, footfalls resonating in the mostly empty highceilinged hall. The earthen browntan in its slight dark shade reminded him of a less reputable part of the Imperial City. The dunmer were to him a dirty race, a marked race, and he found comfort in the company of his host. He found a dunmer walking to a tall clay pot in a dark corner of the hall, and approached him. Red eyes found his own, as he unsheathed a small glass dagger, and stabbed the dunmer in the neck, quickly and forcefully. The dunmer dropped when the dagger was withdrawn, red blood pulsing onto his lightyellowed common shirt. He waited some time for the blood to stop before he pushed the head to his thigh, grasping at the skull and the hair and let him drop to the puddle on the floor. He walked away from the body, back into the manor, and removed the lichen mask.

He sat down at the dining table when Curio and Dren came up from the lower level. Dren might have consumed moon sugar in the meantime; Curio bid Dren farewell, and sat down next to him. They discussed the dunmer people.

My dear Jollring, the dunmer here are a good people, not at all the type they are in mainland Cyrodiil. They make up for their ashen skin in their work ethic. They are sour over our Empires occupation of their country, they think we deposed their gods, but they bear it. It hasnt been easy for them.

They are insolent. They think they are our equals. When I came here softly I shared a boat with the pagans, one acted as my guide to Balmora. I made conversation, I tried to be kind. But they are an ashen plague among our peoples.

You must be more accepting of them. I am a Hlaalu here, I do not believe in interbreeding among the childconscious. I do not concern myself with that business, but I respect the dunmer and the dunmer and the imperials and the imperials and the bretons and the bretons. But think, my man, in your Imperial City there is a fighter who became the champion of the Arena who is himself a breed between an imperial or a breton and an orc.

The Grey Prince disgusts me.

That is his name, I could not remember. But if anything it shows not all interbreedings are necessarily abominable, but from them can arise good fighters, good specialists.

But they are not as men. Their fairer sexes are but throwaway fancies in the Imperial City. The halfbreed scum they beget must be destroyed.

I say, you do have a strong feeling on all of this.

One of Curios dunmer servants came to him, exclaiming murder in the plaza. Curio looked to him and the two went out and saw a dunmer in a pool of blood. There were many surrounding the body, and ordinators speculating when the deed was done. After a short time, he whispered loudly look how they destroy one another. At this he was glanced upon by the crowd, most dunmer.

Late that night when he and Curio played a game a servant begged his lords pardon as he admitted a poorly clothed khajiit. The khajiit carried a thick and heavy bag. Curio asked the khajiit its name and the khajiit did not answer. We want money, it said. Curio looked to his friend for help. He asked the khajiit what was in its bag. The khajiit spoke:

In isle not far from this city, we found a redguard thief dead by wounds who carried bag, this bag, and a note. Sirrah are the ones of the note. We have what she had, and we want money for it.

He knew exactly what was in the khajiits bag. Before the khajiit could notice he procured a glass throwingknife and hurled it into the khajiits head and the khajiits eyes centered to the knife in between its eyes and it stumbled backward and fell and blood came up out of its mouth, the bag in its clenched fist. He got up and took the knife out of its head and cut off its fingers, freeing the bag. Curio looked on and did not know what to make of the episode. He sat down next to Curio and after a while they continued their game.

The bag in his own hands, he left Curios manor the next day, setting out to return to his masters house.


End file.
